Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes

Chapters 13 and 14

Chapter 13

The wind, maybe fate, had made the final decision for him, pushing him over the edge. Now moments from hitting the cement walkway, Alan knew he wanted to live, if for nothing else than to prove all of those faces of pity wrong. Anger, desire, the will to live awoke inside Alan as the ground rushed to meet him.

Gritting his teeth Alan yelled at the ground, now only a few feet away. Then his downward momentum slowed. It felt like someone was lifting him, carrying him up. His forward progress continued to lose speed until it stopped completely. Alan had never used a parachute but he imagined the feeling would be similar.

It happened so fast, Alan wasn’t sure what to think. Fear, confusion, a hundred feelings hit him at once. Alan hovered above the ground for a spilt second, then dropped the last remaining feet to safety.

 

   

Chapter 14

Present Day

“Another drink, sir?”

“Yes. In fact, can you just bring the bottle? I think that will be easier for both of us.”

“I certainly can, sir—would you like to be informed of the price? I mean before I go get it.”

He knew she was trying to be polite. Deep down he understood what was going through her head. She was doing the calculations on how much he already drank, in addition to the cost of the bottle. “No, I don’t need to know the price. Just bring the bottle please.”

He caught the surprise in her eyes even as she turned to go. The server bobbed with a bounce of her blonde curls and was gone.

He smirked to himself and brushed a dark blond strand of his own hair behind his ear. He could feel the expensive fabric of his tailored shirt press against his muscular chest and arms as he reached across the table for the book that lay face up in front of him.

Reading the book alone looked out of place in such a high-end bar, even he realized that. The book reminded him of how he had felt as he made his own transition from plain and ordinary to, something else entirely. Something he was still trying to understand.

He could feel eyes on him from the female patrons in the bar and the staff. He witnessed his server murmuring to her coworkers while grabbing the requested bottle of 1939 Macallan.

The sheets in his book gently ruffled, his fingers touched familiar passages. The pages were like old friends. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered exactly how many times he had read the book.

The lighting in the bar was dim, which would have posed a problem to anyone else but him. The words were so familiar that he could see the print on the page as clearly as if he were sitting at a bench in the park during a bright midday out.

He heard her before he saw her. “Here you are, sir. The most expensive bottle we have. I had to convince my manager that this wasn’t a joke but when I told him who ordered it he practically ran to fill the request.” She placed the newly dusted bottle of whisky on the table. “Do you come here often?”

He put the book down, his blue eyes making contact with hers. “From time to time. Usually there’s a different waitress working.”

“Oh, I’m part of the day shift. I’m just picking up extra hours.” Her eyes fell from his, hesitating too long on his muscular torso and rested on the book that was placed on the table. “Spartans, huh?”

He nodded, “Spartans.”

An awkward silence filled the space between the two as the attractive young woman grasped for a follow up line. A line she never had to use before; men had always felt obligated to fill the silence in an attempt to please her. “Ummm… can I pour the whisky for you?”

“No, that’s fine you can leave the bottle.”

She cleared her throat, once again at a loss for words. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you? I mean the entire night staff seems to know you and I think every woman in here has asked about you since you sat down.” Her face reddened even as she asked the question.

He looked at her; he really looked at her. She was pretty, young and carried herself like a woman rather than a girl. High energy and a steady smile made her not only attractive but even approachable. He didn’t blame her for the question. In all fairness, it was one that he had been trying to answer for the past four years. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. The last few years have been a blur of temporary happiness.”

This was clearly not the answer she was expecting. “Oh, okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. My name is Sophia.”

He nodded as she turned and left. Part of him wished he had been nicer, but it was the truth. Alan Price opened the costly bottle of whisky as nonchalantly as someone would open a water bottle. He poured himself a generous portion. As the glass traveled from the table top to his lips, he thought back to the first night he realized that life would be more of a mystery than he ever thought possible.